“Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.”

That’s ­Othello’s warning to a group of angry men—armed and reckless enough to confront him. It’s not exactly subtle: draw your blades, and you won’t live long enough to see them rust.

Now, Shakespeare may not be the first name that comes to mind when discussing Trinidad and Tobago’s worsening epidemic of home invasions. But that scene from one of his most famous tragedies raises questions that still haunt lawyers, judges, and terrified citizens: when is the use of force justified? Who decides whether violence was proportionate, necessary—or even lawful?

In the play, Othello is a seasoned general—calm, capable, and warned that the men approaching him “come with bad intent”. Yet he chooses restraint. Had he killed them, a court—or today, a talk-show panel—­might have asked: was there a real threat? Was it proportionate? Was lethal force really necessary?

Those are fair questions when trained soldiers clash in the street. They are not fair questions when a homeowner is forced to defend his or her family in the dead of night.

That’s why I support the stand-your-ground law proposed by Prime Minister Kamla Persad-Bissessar and her UNC administration—a measure designed to protect citizens in their homes and to ensure the law does not second-guess ­decisions made under extreme ­duress.

If someone breaks into my home to do harm, I should not be expected to match their weapon or assess their mood. I should not be expected to act with restraint. I should be expected only to survive—and protect the people I love.

What about proportionate force?

If a criminal enters my house with a penknife, I don’t need to meet him with a penknife of my own. This isn’t a fencing match. In that moment of fear, the law must recognise my right to respond with overwhelming force—not calibrated caution. That’s not cruelty. That’s survival.

What about reasonableness?

The idea that a homeowner must behave “reasonably” during a home invasion is absurd. Reason is a luxury. Terror, chaos and adrenaline are not conducive to legal analysis. The only reasonable objective is to live.

What about a duty to ­retreat?

Absolutely not. Not in my home. If an armed stranger forces their way into my house, I should have no duty to run. While the law may not strictly require it now, let’s be clear on it. No judge, no politician, no law professor should require me to abandon my ground—or my family—in the place where I should feel safest.

Of course, critics are already sounding their predictable alarms. Some point to the tragic killing of Trayvon Martin—an unarmed black teenager shot by George Zimmerman in Florida, who claimed protection under that state’s stand-your-ground law. That case may deserve the outrage it generated, but it is entirely irrelevant to our national context.

Zimmerman pursued Martin on a public street. That was not a home invasion. That was not a citizen defending their family. Conflating the two is not only misleading—it is intellectually dishonest.

Others argue that stand-your-ground laws can be abused. And they’re right. But so can every law. Bail laws are abused. So are firearm laws, tax laws, and even freedom of speech. The possibility of misuse does not mean we abandon the principle to give citizens the right to defend themselves in their home.

More importantly, this law is not being snuck in through the back door. It was a centrepiece of the UNC’s general election campaign. Persad-Bissessar was unapologetically clear: a government led by her would change the law to give homeowners the unambiguous right to defend themselves. Voters knew this—and voted accordingly. That’s not a loophole. That’s democracy.

“Stand your ground” doesn’t demand that we become a nation of vigilantes. It doesn’t glorify violence. It simply affirms what many of us already believe: that if danger crosses your doorway, you are not expected to be reasonable, negotiate, or pause to consider what a judge might think months later. You are expected to act—and survive.

Shakespeare’s Othello was a tragedy of jealousy, betrayal, and manipulation. But the real tragedy in Trinidad and Tobago today is not poetic—it’s the brutal, daily reality of violent crime. It’s families living in fear, in communities where the police often arrive long after the terror has passed. And if the State cannot always be there to protect its citizens, then the least it can do is empower them to protect themselves.

Prime Minister Persad-Bissessar isn’t demanding blood. She is demanding safety and dignity for citizens—she’s demanding a law that trusts citizens in the moment they are most afraid.

Her vision can perhaps be best expressed by Othello’s famous last words: “Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.” In other words, I’m not a villain. I’m not a hero. I’m just someone who survived—by standing their ground.

—Author Kiel Taklalsingh is an attorney-at-law.